Sunday, June 24, 2007
Damn, I Look Good
I woke up early this morning so I could have my routine an egg white omelette, freshly squeezed oj and low - fat organic yogurt. But before I even made it into a pair of designer jeans, I was floored when I caught a glimpse of myself in my full length mirror. Its not often that one gets caught off-guard by their taught physique and iceberg baby blues. I must have spent at least two hours staring in the mirror before I reached the conclusion: Damn, I Look Good.
People stop me on the street, bi-daily, to make comments on the sculpture that is my body. They ask me, Brice, what's it like just being so damn good looking? In one word I reply; Completely Awesome. Now don't get me wrong. Whatever anyone says, a chiseled bod that put's Michelangelo's David to shame and handsomely rugged looks that could make Burt Reynolds cry don't come easy. You can't just pop a pill and expect to look like Brice. Brice takes hard work, dedication, and three generations of hot people engaging in sexual intercourse.
I also realized that I looked damn good when I was at the upscale martini bar sipping a cherry vodka and diet. I made eye contact with a hot skinata (pronounced skin-yata; See also, 'firey skinata', 'extra spicy skinata', 'hot tamale') and approached her to announce the presence of Brice. She was all about me; so much so that she suggested that I engage in intercourse with myself. I've entertained that quandary before, and trust me baby, if Brice could do that, Brice would have been there and done Brice. The evening ended abruptly when she got so excited that she bolted out of the club. I imagine she went home to clear her calendar for the next two weeks, as to leave ample time for Brice-flection on the life changing evening she had spent with me. But not before she cooled me down with her appletini. I knew my bad boy moves were burning up the dance floor, but I had no idea that I had brought it so hard that a babe-ette would sacrifice her ten dollar beverage for my personal comfort. Thanks sex kitten. You sacrificed one for the team. And by team, I mean Brice.
But Enough about her. Back to what everyone wants to talk about: Me. There have been substantial rumors circling Brice Lancer as of late. A bit of Brice-Mania, if you will. People have said everything from, to 'Brice is signing with Calvin Klein', to 'Brice is throwing the biggest model party in New York' to 'Brice is debating putting on pants' to 'Brice slept with me and stole my purse'. Let me assure you, none of these rumors are true. Except for possibly the last one, which is highly unsubstantiated, and my lawyer has asked me not to discuss. Brice is not, as of late, signing with Calvin Klein, throwing a modeling party, or putting on pants. However, if someone were to propose such an arrangement, Brice would not be whole-heartedly opposed. As for now, Brice will just continue to be the stud-muffin that everyone has come to worship and adore.
Alas, all this unsubstantiated rumor talk has again gotten me off topic yet again. What were we discussing? And can someone tell me WHO that dropdead gorgeous guy is across the room in his underwear?! OH, HAHA, thats just me in the mirror. Damn, I look good.
Thursday, June 21, 2007
I Met My Girlfriend at the Abortion Clinic
by Sam David
Now before you start getting judgmental, I have to clarify a couple of things. One: Maria wasn’t getting an abortion; her younger sister was. Two: I wasn’t there for any abortion related reason; actually, I thought the abortion clinic was a McDonalds. I should have known when I went to walk through the drive-thru and there wasn’t one. Also, the protesters and the picket line might have tipped off a less hunger crazed individual. But, I was famished! I just needed to double check, so I went inside and ordered a number two. Briefly thereafter, I was informed, that in fact, it was not a McDonalds, but Mason City’s abortion clinic. I would have killed for a double cheeseburger and value size fries, but getting a girlfriend was just delightful. Unlike other people in the waiting room, I had made a wonderful mistake.
I remember meeting her just like it was yesterday. Actually, it might have been yesterday. I've been engaged in lite-hearted celebration since finishing finals at university -- GO BOBCAAATS!!!! -- and I've been having so much fun that the days tend to blend together. However, regardless of the date, I'm pretty convinced that I must have been intoxicated on that fateful day -- Intoxicated with love.
I remember how beautiful Maria was, offset by her sister crying and screaming in her cell phone at her baby's daddy. Maria was texting her ex-boyfriend and twirling her lush, semi-permed hair around her purple, sparkly, self-adhesive nails . She looked up at me as I proceeded to urinate on the fake ficus in the waiting room. As I strolled over to start light conversation, I stumbled over a poorly placed cofee table and practically landed in her lap. Everyone in the room must have seen how nervous I was to talk to her -- What a butter-fingers! I was so love struck that I proceeded to vomit in her lap. She looked down at me with the cutest mad face, "OHHH NO U DI-NNNN'T". Oh Yes I did, honey buns. Yes I did.
It was love at first sight. Sure, she may have her issues: but at 23, who hasn't had several children from different men or another man's name tattooed on their neck? We've all been there. Who are we to judge?
I'll admit that telling people I met my girlfriend in an abortion clinic is a little different. But it's no different than locking eyes while reaching for the same loaf of bread at the grocery store, or falling head over heels at line at the coffee shop. Love doesn't wait for you to be in a socially acceptable venue for flirtation. Sometimes love just happens. And that's why I have no shame in saying that I met my girlfriend at the abortion clinic.
Wednesday, June 13, 2007
Demon Slayerz: Great Band, or Greatest Band?
“We just knew it was right,” said front man Tony “Dragon Fury” Robins. “I mean, it was just like, 100% adrenaline pumping fury, right from the first sesh. No one saw it coming. We rocked so hard that I woke up on the floor with a concussion. I’m surprised my face was still fully intact after Kamakazi Molitov’s face melting licks.”
“Kamakazi Molitov’s solo is paradoxically transcendent and elusive,” notes local late-nite radio personality ‘Crazy Steve’, who can be heard on Tuesdays from midnight until three on 88.3 WROX. “Its like, he woke up on the wrong side of the bed, and liked it. Total Badass. I haven’t been rocked that hard since STYX’s 86 Tour with REO Speedwagon”
Monday, June 11, 2007
Acting Smart the New Cute?
Like I was saying, I was voted number two most popular girl in my school, which means I’m like super cute. I couldn’t tell you where Iraq is, but honestly, who cares? Trick question: No one. Everyone cares about Paris and the seriousness of her being in Jail. Just look at the front page of New York Times Online. And they know what’s important. You can’t have the princess of hotels locked up in some poorly lit, dingy cell with normal people. That’s ridiculous. She’s probably delirious at this point, hence why she’s saying crazy things like ‘acting dumb isn’t cute’.
Girls have been acting dumb for years to get attention from boys. Just the other day, I was driving to my friend’s place. I just got my license last month, btw This guy thought I was sooo cute that he was like yelling and shaking his fist and getting all red in the face. He said something about some sign with an arrow on it pointing the other way. Translation: I’m SUPER cute.
There are serious problems that could arise if Smart was Cute. If Paris started acting smart, it would like make smart hott. And if smart was hott, then everyone would start acting smart. Then there would be all these smart people and it would probably rip a hole in the ozone layer. And if the ozone layer disappears then the ice caps would melt and penguins would die. Penguins are sooooooo cute. Paris, unless you hate penguins, which you probably don’t because no one can really hate penguins, except maybe that guy that chases around Chilly Willy on Woody the Woodpecker, then you shouldn’t be saying ridiculous things like acting dumb isn’t cute. You will just kill penguins.
Friday, June 8, 2007
King Kong Ain't Got Shit On Me
American Board of Taste Representative Speaks Out: Mr. Pibb and Red Vines: Crazy Delicious?
My Pre-Teen Daughter is Much More Popular Than your Pre-Teen Daughter
Your pre-teen daughter, on the other hand, tried out for the Fredrick Middle School marching band and got offered to play the tuba. But it was only by default: she tried out for flute, but lost first chair to my daughter’s best and most popular friend, Eliza. Tuba was the only instrument left that wasn’t taken. No one, and I mean NO ONE, wants to play or be associated with anything involving a tuba.